


The One with the Sneak-Attack Fake-out Make-out

by Corpium



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Dubious Consent, Fake-Out Make-Out, M/M, young!Peter Hale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpium/pseuds/Corpium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is just minding his own business, strolling along like every other totally normal person, when he spots a leather-fetishizing gang stalking into one of Beacon Hills' three sketchy alleys. </p><p>Then he stops minding his own business. </p><p>And Peter Hale runs right into him. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with the Sneak-Attack Fake-out Make-out

**Author's Note:**

> Dubcon warning because Peter doesn't ask before he begins kissing Stiles. 
> 
> deputycuffmeanytime wanted more young!peter, and yes, this is a one-shot. Probably.
> 
> *Please don't add/rate this on goodreads or copy/duplicate this outside of personal use. If you'd like to know why I don't want it on goodreads, see my post [here](http://perceptions3key.tumblr.com/post/114890656994/i-have-a-request-regarding-my-fanfiction-and-ill).

Welcome to Beacon Hills, where the sky is blue, the breeze is nice, and the lacrosse players are hot. Where poverty means working class, smoking pot in the forest preserve is badass, and the worst crime is petty theft. Where everything is terribly, terribly safe and terribly, terribly normal.

 

Or so Stiles has always thought. Then Peter Hale runs into him, quite literally, and Stiles's world tips on its axis.

 

Okay, so maybe it's not _completely_ Peter's fault. Maybe it's more that Stiles shouldn't be stalking mysterious new strangers in town. But seriously, how can he not? Downtown Beacon Hills is home to bored teenagers, respectable middle-aged women who like to check out expensive boutiques, and suburban families who like to support small business, so when he's making a coffee/bribery run for his dad and spots a Black Widow-wannabe leading a posse of leather-jacketed musclemen into one of Beacon Hills' three sketchy alleys, how's he supposed to resist following them?

 

Instead of entering the coffee shop, Stiles whips out his phone and stares down at it, waiting for the gang across the street to disappear into the alley. As soon as they're out of sight, he pockets his phone and crosses the street. He walks the twenty feet it takes to get to the alley entrance, begins to peek around the corner—

 

And somebody _slams_ into him, cracking their foreheads together. Stiles's skull flares with pain, and white spots cloud his vision. "Jesus Christ, watch—" A hand slaps over Stiles's mouth, and another grabs his wrist, vicelike, and tugs him down the sidewalk.

 

A second later, Stiles's vision begins to clear up, and he finds himself being tugged into the recess of some salon's storefront by a teenage boy. He begins yanking the boy's hand away –"What the hell—" only to have his back pushed up against the glass window, the other boy's hands gripping his shoulders. Then the boy pauses, and Stiles realizes he recognizes him.

 

He's in Stiles's year. Always surrounded by the basketball team. Their captain, right? "Peter H—" he starts to ask, face scrunching up in confusion, but then Peter –Peter Hale, it has to be—steps further into his space and presses their bodies together, going so far as to place an index finger on Stiles's lips.

 

"Work with me, Stiles," Peter whispers, and wow, what a fascinating new turn-on.

 

What's more of a turn-on is Peter's next move: Lips.

 

Lips on Stiles's lips.

 

The hand previously in front of Stiles's face slides around to the back of his head, fingers sliding up into his hair.

 

Peter's lips begin to move, ever so slowly, massaging and slow, and Stiles barely notices as the Black Widow-wannabe and her posse sprint by, feet pounding against the sidewalk. He can't figure out what to do. Should he kiss back? He has no idea what's going on. He's only shared a few kisses and fumbled makeouts with a couple girls so far, and those were all on actually dates. What's the protocol for attack-kisses? Is there protocol for that?

 

His hands twitch at his sides before they finally settle on Peter's hips, the bony crests of Peter's pelvis beneath his palms oddly grounding. Peter grunts in appreciation, his grip on Stiles's hair tightening. Stiles tilts his head obligingly and begins to kiss back. Their teeth clack together at first, but then they settle into a rhythm, lips hot and wet against each other. Heat seems to spread through his body, loosening his limbs and slowing his frantic thoughts.

 

Peter's other hand slips under Stiles's shirt and begins roving over his skin, fingers digging in.

 

Stiles opens his mouth with a small sigh unintentionally, and Peter doesn't hesitate to deepen the kiss. Stiles automatically tugs him closer by the hips, the pressure between them building. God, why haven't they done this before?

 

A bell rings nearby, but Stiles doesn't pay it any attention. Then: "Ahem," a woman clears her throat nearby. "…Excuse me!"

 

Stiles opens his eyes and glances to the side towards the voice, spotting a young woman in a white, hair-covered apron standing in the salon's doorway, glaring daggers at them. He freezes and realizes that he still has no idea what the hell is going on. He pulls his face away from Peter, the last slide of their lips leaving his skin tingling. "Heeeeeey," he says to the woman.

 

She raises her eyebrows. "While you two lovebirds certainly seem to be enjoying yourselves, my customers didn't come here to watch porn. So if you don't mind moving your PDA somewhere else…." She makes a shooing gesture at them.

 

"Uh…" Stiles has no idea how to respond to that.

 

He looks down as Peter slips his hand out from under Stiles's shirt and grabs Stiles's left hand, which is, Stiles notices in embarrassment, still on Peter's hip. Peter tugs it away, making something twist horribly in Stiles's stomach. "Terribly sorry," Peter says insincerely to the woman, and that's when Stiles finally meets Peter's eyes.

 

"Won't happen again," Peter says, intent eyes boring into Stiles, and the invisible knife in Stiles's gut twists. Stiles averts his gaze and tries to pull away, only for Peter's hand on his to tighten so much that he can't leave. He looks back up at Peter. His puffy lips are turned up in a satisfied smile, and he's looking at Stiles like he can read his mind. Stiles swallows. People aren't supposed to look at him that way.

 

"Come on," Peter says, and he begins to tug Stiles away.

 

This time, Stiles follows without stumbling. The bell rings behind them as the woman closes the door.

 

"I gotta say," Peter says, pulling Stiles into the very alley that had started this whole thing. "I expected you to be more of a talker."

 

He tries to back Stiles up against the wall again, but Stiles is having none of it this time. He pushes Peter away. "Well, excuse me for being a little shocked by the attack-kiss. And what the hell was that, anyway?" But Stiles knows exactly what it was, so before Peter, already smirking, can answer, he asks, "Who were those guys?"

 

The smirk falls from Peter's face as he gives Stiles a one-shoulder shrug. "Drug dealer and her goons."

 

"A Hale? On drugs? Please," Stiles scoffs.

 

This seems to surprise Peter. "I thought that was the most popular rumor about us."

 

"And that's how I know it's not true."

 

"You never know. There's often a grain of truth to rumors."

 

"If you say so. I've also heard the Hales are part of the Mafia. There a grain of truth to that, too? Oh! Or how about the one where you guys are secret guardians of the forest? Or the one where you and the Argents are basically the Capulets and the Montagues? Or the one where you're all escaped government experiments? Or how about—"

 

"You pay the Hales a lot of attention, don't you?"

 

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good mystery."

 

"I'm sure you'll make a great detective," Peter drawls, and Stiles can't tell whether or not he's being sarcastic. Peter exhales through his nose harshly and pats Stiles on the chest. "Well, it's been lovely, but I'm running late. See you around school." He spins on his heel and begins walking towards the entrance to the alley.

 

"Wait, that's it?" Stiles can't help but ask. "You're just gonna use me then dump me? I'm hurt, truly. I think my heart's shrinking two sizes this very instant." And it's funny because even though Stiles is joking, he's really, really not.

 

Peter pauses mid-step, back still turned to Stiles. He tilts his head to the side, as if listening to something. "You're gonna try to figure this out, aren't you?" Stiles just barely manages to hear him murmur.

 

"Well, yeah, of course. Your explanation sucked." Stiles crosses his arms and waits.

 

Peter gives a little huff, and then he whirls back around and shoves Stiles up against the wall before Stiles even realizes what's happening. "Whoa—umph—" 

 

Peter's mouth smashes against his again again, this time fierce and biting, and Stiles gives as good as he gets. He grabs Peter by the arms and spins them around, slamming Peter up against the wall in his place. He nips and tugs at Peter's lips before slotting them into place, hands digging into Peter's biceps. Peter yanks himself away and take a step to the side, breathing hard and leaving Stiles bereft. Stiles tugs him back in and gets a harsh nip and a hand squeezing his ass in return before Peter pulls away again.

 

"See you around, Stiles," Peter murmurs, and this time it's with a grin. He saunters away, hands in pockets, leaving Stiles against the wall to catch his breath, his lips curling upward, bruised with promise.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are my lifeblood


End file.
